Oh Brother
by irislim
Summary: Some men go to great lengths to win their bets. Can true love convince them to lose instead? AU where Elizabeth has a brother, who happens to have just the right friends. (Sample Only)
1. Sorrows

The first bet had started innocently enough. Bingley had deigned it impossible to make Caroline dance with anyone without a title, and Bennet had proved his friend wrong. The next to bet was Fitzwilliam, who lost ten shillings to his cousin for believing that Georgiana would side with him over her own brother. The next to lose after him was Bennet, who could not convince Lady Catherine de Bourgh that Darcy had pock marks on his buttocks. As it was, the many bets continued throughout the course of their friendship. Cambridge, after all, was as place as much of fun as of learning.

* * *

Such as it was, the four friends found themselves in particular need for alleviation of moods upon this night - to be henceforth known, to Bingley's eternal protests, as the night of 'Bingley's first broken heart.' Upon retrospection years later, the appellation granted far more significance to the frivolous evening that deserved. In this particular moment, however, Bingley found his heart nearly stopping and his world a bleak image of everlasting loneliness.

"Was she truly that beautiful to begin with, man?" Darcy, ever stoic, sat straight as a tree with his arms resolutely crossed. His solemn deportment had him hovering across the table much, much taller than Bingley's crestfallen perch. Harsh as he ever was, Darcy showed just as little optimism as he would on every other day.

"Oh Darcy, must you be so glum?" Bennet laughed, hand on the mug on the table. "Bingley appears genuinely grieved. Should we not at least bear his burdens?"

"Oh, but _is_ he truly grieved?" Darcy retorted, to Bingley's pain. "Appearances are wont to be deceiving, I dare say."

"Darcy!" Fitzwilliam, to Bingley's left, interrupted with a heartily shaking head. "Bingley mourns - must we be so heartless?"

"He mourns unnecessarily," Darcy replied curtly.

"Indeed, accustomed to his sisters' frankness, Bingley must have found Miss Jameson's graces far more lovely than they perhaps had been," Bennet conceded. His voice remained unsettlingly blithe. "But must we make sport of his sadness? Her engagement did come most suddenly."

"I do not make sport," Darcy stated simply.

"I dare say you never do!" interjected Fitzwilliam, smiling. "For a man so certain Bingley does not grieve, you look most melancholy of the lot of us!"

"I am not _melancholy_ ," spat Darcy.

The laughter exchanged amongst the three other friends lifted Bingley's spirits a certain degree. Now, at least, he found himself able to smile slightly. "I hope to God I do not look half as melancholy as you, Darce."

His subtle ribbing earned him a prompt glare from the ever-serious Darcy, and Bingley found himself smiling even more.

"Darcy, man, you frankly look far too grouchy than is acceptable," Fitzwilliam rebuked his cousin across the tavern table. Their warm sleeves felt warmer as each sip of whiskey burned down their throats. The room blurred gradually in Bingley's grief-addled mind. "If a stranger were to enter this room at this instant, I am quite certain he shall declare _you_ the one to have lost one's first passionate love."

"I do not!" Darcy thundered, to the sheer amusement of his friends.

"Well then, man," Bingley found himself speaking despite the pain. He looked straight at Darcy's somber mien. "I choose to bet that you should have your heart broken at least _once_ before the term closes."

Darcy scoffed, clearly unamused.

"I second Bingley," Bennet spoke. His empty mug hit the coarse table boards. "I would gladly double the bet."

"Very well, I accept." Darcy scoffed again. "I simply will _not_ let my heart be touched."

Bingley looked beside him, first at Bennet and then at Fitzwilliam, and exchanged their knowing smiles.

* * *

"A good day for a good ride." Darcy dropped on the seat beside him, particularly eager, in impeccable riding garb. The cooling weather of late had seemed to rouse the outdoorsman in his cousin - who rather disliked the heat of summer noons.

Fitzwilliam smiled grimly. "I am afraid I shall be riding horses aplenty for years to come - in England or in France."

Darcy frowned, seldom one to understand things not plainly said. Bingley, quite the opposite, turned immediately from his books to face him. "You are to leave Cambridge?"

Fitzwilliam smiled at his friend's quick observation. Darcy, on the other hand, had his face grow instantly dark.

"Your family refuses to support you, Richard?" His cousin demanded, eyes tense. " _I_ shall do it myself if I have to. You deserve an education."

"Don't be silly, Darce, you are in no position to determine my future." Fitzwilliam laughed. His right hand still clung tightly onto his father's latest letter, its contents heavy on his heart. He forced himself to laugh again. "I have never had achievements half as good as yours, after all, cousin dear. The army and its shifting faces perhaps suits me best."

"The army?" Bennet looked up from his book once more. The man was studious, no doubt. "I had thought you better a charming statesman."

"A statesman must first gather his crowd." Fitzwilliam smiled. His fingers gripped the letter firmly to his side. "My father knows best how I should gather mine."

"Napoleon's threat brews thicker by the day. To enlist is not a game. Your father makes unexpected choices."

"Alas, 'tis the lot of a second son." Fitzwilliam's chest ached, though his voice remained jovial. "My fortunes hold not the security of my friends'."

The friends quickly moved to object, but not one among the three could deny his own privilege as the only son. The murmurs of discontent at the imminent departure of their affable companion rose heatedly - but, without reason to sustain, they just as swiftly declined.

"I am afraid, Darcy, that you shall to visit Aunt Catherine without me the next few years." Fitzwilliam found the opportunity perfect to rib his stormy-eyed cousin. It would be hard indeed to part with Darcy. Having wasted two years of his life in social meandering before attending university with Darcy, however, Fitzwilliam knew he himself had few more years of reckless youth to squander. "I believe you must pay her twice the obeisance to relieve her of the pain of losing mine."

"Heaven forbid you _ever_ leave me alone to her clutches," Darcy commanded, frowning sternly.

Fitzwilliam smiled. "Would you prefer I entrust you to Bingley's sister?"

Bennet's guffaw, Darcy's glare, and Bingley's apologetic grin composed a most amusing view.

"I am sorry, Darcy, you know, for Caroline's incessant hinting," Bingley, shrugging, offered in peace.

"I would appreciate it much if you can convince her that I have no interest to be married," Darcy appealed as he leaned back against the sofa. The shock over his cousin's eventual departure seemed to be slowly morphing into begrudging acceptance.

When Bingley seemed stunted in his efforts to formulate an adequate response, Bennet's voice soon came to his rescue. "I believe Bingley would gladly do so if only it were the truth."

"Truth?" Darcy scoffed. "I am most decidedly against marriage, I am afraid. My mother may turn in her grave - but even she cannot aim cupid's arrows."

"But my mother can." Bennet laughed. His regal blue clothes and manner contrasted with his choice of topic. "If you are so certain to escape matrimony, Darcy, I would advise that you never allow yourself to meet my mother. Five daughters have made her quite the matchmaker."

"Your sisters are all married?" Bingley asked openly.

"Ah, I stand corrected." Bennet smiled, closing his book. "My mother _endeavors_ to be quite the matchmaker."

Darcy, perhaps accustomed to London's flirtatious hordes, only frowned further while his two other friends chuckled.

"I would be glad to meet your sisters, Bennet. You have often spoken of them so well." Bingley's words were beyond predictable.

"Have I?" Bennet laughed again. "Perhaps my mother has affected me without my knowledge. I dare not vouch for all of them, I'm afraid. Jane, like her brother, is known for being quite the local beauty. Elizabeth and her witty thoughts enliven every room she occupies. The younger three, however, I dare not claim to know well, given our disparity in age."

"I did not know you thought so highly of your own face, man." Fitzwilliam joined, spirits much lifted in the previous ten minutes. "I hope you do not intend for any of us to fall in love with _you_."

Bingley's paled face and Darcy's groan were just what Fitzwilliam wanted.

"I am afraid that course of action would still be unsuccessful in keeping you from the army's barracks." Bennet smiled. "But, if you would but marry one of my sisters, I promise my mother shall worship the ground you tread upon, perhaps to the point of convincing your father of your need to stay in England."

"I shall give the plan my due consideration."

Bennet nodded, and Fitzwilliam wondered if his two other dear friends could be just as cheerful about the matter as Bennet seemed to be.

* * *

"Well, you look dour today, my friend," Fitzwiliam observed as he took the seat across the long table.

College fare was never as appetizing as what Darcy's private cook would serve - but Bennet's moods today had little to do with the victuals before him. Never one to be as lively as Bingley nor as sober as Darcy, Bennet found very few people able to discern his subtle thoughts. Fitzwilliam, thank God for his presence, was among the few.

"Is something the matter?" Bingley slid beside Fitzwilliam upon the bench. "I thought the weather quite lovely today."

As lovely as it could be with the onset of winter, Bennet thought with a very tight smile.

"My father chose to let me end the term in peace, Bennet," Fitzwilliam said. "Don't let Darcy's storminess have you upsetting the fact as well."

Bennet chuckled just as Darcy appeared by their side. His haughty bearings fit ill with the youthful crowd about them. With his friends alone, Darcy was sober; among strangers, he was positively arrogant. "Could we not come to my residence? I fail to see the allure of messy halls and stuffy rooms."

Darcy's complaint, it seemed, was just the thing to bring about Bennet's usual cheer. The Hertfordshire gentleman eased his open hand towards Bingley as quickly as a young deer took after is mother. "I believe payment is due, chap. He barely lasted a minute."

Fitzwilliam's and Darcy's frowns only served to better Bennet's mood. "Come now, Bingley, I had always payed you fair. You could spare your shilling easily enough, I'm sure."

Bingley - still smiling, for the man could do little else - promptly dropped his shilling on Bennet's palm before whispering, "I'm sorry," to Darcy.

"You are sorry to _me_?" Darcy's confusion could hardly be feigned.

"I had thought you would not complain that we should come here today," Bingley muttered meekly, and Fitzwilliam's howled in laughter.

"I, of course, had the foresight to know that you would barely last five minutes." Bennet smiled, pocketing his winning. "I had not thought you to exceed my expectations to barely last one."

Darcy's gruff scoff heightened the comedic fact that it was his pride that had subjected him to being the topic of his friends' bet at all.

"Oh, cousin, you prove them absolutely correct!" Fitzwilliam exclaimed, laughing. "I bet you could barely suffer yourself to smile once before bed today."

Darcy's growl, once again, merely displayed his predictable sourness further - to his friends' great amusement.

"I am only thoughtful," Darcy defended himself firmly. "I do smile."

His friends laughed still.

"I am the sole heir to so much of England!" Darcy insisted childishly. "I simply _have_ to be sober for my tasks."

Fitzwilliam and Bingley laughed all the same. Bennet, however, soon found his thoughts dark once more.

"Bennet?" Fitzwilliam was first to notice.

Bennet smiled sadly. "I am afraid my problems for today regard exactly the fact that I _am_ the sole heir to a small part of England."

Darcy, perhaps intrigued by this turn of thought, sat beside him.

"Your father's estate?" asked Bingley.

Bennet nodded. "His cousin is visiting today - a Mr. Collins, I believe. If I were to die heirless at any point in time, the estate is entailed away to him - rather than my dear sisters."

Reality covered the young men's mirth with a much more somber mien.

"With you, I am certain your sisters would not lack for care," Darcy spoke first, perhaps thinking of his own young sibling.

"I can only hope I neither die young nor spend my parents' meager earnings." Bennet knew his own smile was sad. " _Five_ sisters I could hardly vouch to support my entire life."

"Perhaps, like me, then, you ought to find yourself a happy, fair heiress." Fitzwilliam's joviality revived happier thoughts. The friends, including Darcy, smiled.

"I am glad I did not bet money," Fitzwilliam claimed, staring at his cousin.

"I am sorry I did not." Darcy smiled.

* * *

In his young life, Darcy had had many dark moments. From childhood injuries to the loss of his mother - he had never been shielded from life's truest despairs. The day Wickham had been banished from Pemberley, of course, had been easily among those horrific memories. Young as he was - Darcy knew grief.

Thus he knew, today, that this grief would chill him to the very bone for years to come.

"I am sorry, man," Fitzwilliam comforted beside him.

Darcy frowned further, his throat tight.

"I would not wish such sorrow upon my worst enemy." Bennet's voice seemed to crack today.

Darcy lowered his head.

"Shall I call on my sisters to cheer you, Darce?" Bingley offered unhelpfully.

"No!" Darcy cried in unison with Fitzwilliam. Bennet smiled sadly beside them all. Darcy sighed. "Let us menfolk mourn in peace."

Bingley nodded understandingly, and the room fell into silence once more.

The harsh rain outside the window encapsulated Darcy's pain. His eyes fell shut as memories of his father flitted through his mind: the first ride they'd shared, the first ball he'd allowed his son to attend, the first time he'd entrusted Georgiana to Darcy's care, the first time - and the last - that he'd held his dying wife tightly until she'd slipped into heaven. Darcy found himself choking uncontrollably for a whole minute in the quiet sitting room.

"Is there little we can do?" Bennet asked, voice pained himself. Perhaps his friend also feared the horror of losing one's father.

No, Darcy, realized, the only friend who truly knew - had to be Bingley.

"I'm sorry, Darce," Bingley, shifting in his brown suit, hung his head. "I had been unwise to bet so."

The echoes of that bet - made so heartily on the night of Bingley's first broken heart - reverberated in hollow tones around their present company.

Darcy sighed. "I blame you not."

"But I was so very inconsiderate!" Bingley flew from his seat and started pacing about. His mournful face exhibited deep, exhausting guilt. "If I suffered from a broken heart so - how could I so lightly wish it upon my friends?"

"You had not thought your wish to apply to Uncle George," Fitzwilliam assured. "Our family cannot fault you."

"Oh, the horrors of a broken heart!" Bingley continued to exclaim. "I cannot fathom what I have wished upon you."

"Again, be quiet." Darcy sighed. Bingley's guilt, while truly heartfelt, was rather untimely in his hour of mourning. "Please - leave me be."

"Perhaps we should extend your bet, Bingley," Bennet offered, "to apply only to a _woman_ breaking Darcy's heart."

Bingley looked hopefully at his grieving friend, and Darcy grunted his assent.

It would not do, after all, to compare this sadness to a woman's rejection. The latter, Darcy was certain, he would never have to face.


	2. Balls

The flitting figures and cheerful music hardly soothed his tired spirit. Yet, despite his deepest fears - of death, of torture, of defeat - Richard Fitzwilliam maintained his ever-present smile. It would not do for their merry band to lose its merriest member. His back side had barely touched the edge of the seat before he was accosted by yet another female.

"Mr. Fitzwilliam!" The great block of orange before him exclaimed. "I hear Charles say this to be your last ball! How horrific!"

Fitzwilliam smiled most genuinely at recollecting which of his friends had the misfortune of supporting this flighty woman. Only a man as amicable as Bingley would bear such foolishness in his house! Perhaps, Fitzwilliam realized, he bore not the title of the merriest man after all.

"Miss Bingley." He stood. "How kind of you to grace our humble winter ball."

"It is your last one, I believe." Miss Bingley frowned most hyperbolically, a hand upon his arm. "I can hardly imagine a life without such merriment!"

Fitzwilliam smiled politely. "I believe I shall manage, madame."

"Right, of course - your family is _so_ very strong." She sighed.

By _family_ , of course, there was but one person the venerable Miss Bingley could possibly find within her concern.

"Is your cousin with you tonight?" She asked with little prompting. Her eyes, so wide and innocent, could little conceal her motives.

"Darcy merely took a turn for refreshments, I believe."

"Oh."

The blush upon her youthful face contrasted quite keenly with her adult ensemble. Surely such a neckline did not suit a woman so young!

"Miss Bingley," Fitzwilliam spoke gently as she looked up. "I believe I have another friend quite desirous of your company."

Miss Bingley pulled back slightly, perhaps in surprise, before following his head's inclination to see Bennet's approaching form.

"Ah, Miss Bingley." Bennet smiled, obviously pleased, before he lifted the woman's hand for a kiss. "We are quite blessed to have you with us today. May I request for your hand for our next set?"

Miss Bingley hesitated, perchance worried - as she had every right to be - that her actions would govern the results of yet another bet. Her glance at Fitzwilliam appeared at once curious and unsure.

"I assure you, madame, that there has been no, uhm, _difference_ of opinion about this matter." Fitzwilliam moved quickly to say, to Bennet's approving nod.

"Miss Bingley, shall we?" Bennet led the woman away, leaving Fitzwilliam to personal peace once more.

The music started soon enough, and Fitzwilliam found himself feeling nearly triumphant for having evaded one more undesired round of dancing.

"Why should we attend balls at all, then, if neither of us prefer to ever dance?" Darcy appeared suddenly beside him, revealing to Fitzwilliam that perhaps his own thoughts had not been kept as wordless as he had thought.

Fitzwilliam turned to his cousin, smirk in place. "Why ever do we, indeed? Alas for me, Darce, I am quite certain of my need to marry a woman I am to meet in one such social gathering. I have not your devastating vow of eternal bachelorhood."

"I have not - " Darcy begun to deny, only to stop himself with one lowly-tucked chin. "I do not promise _never_ to marry."

"Oh, ring the bells and tell every _mama_ in town!" Fitzwilliam laughed. "How shall I ever find an heiress for myself once you declare yourself to be available?"

"I seek no heiress." Darcy shifted uncomfortably. Fitzwilliam found both joy at his cousin's discomfort - and sadness at the realization that he shall have much fewer chances to rib him so beyond tomorrow.

"Bingley's sister's dowry still not enough?" Fitzwilliam took care to whisper.

"Hush, Richard!" Darcy barked, eyes open in fear. "I swear, if you have given her _any_ sort of idea that I may ever come close to considering her - "

"I shall wish for Napoleon's army instead." Fitzwilliam smiled.

Darcy stopped short at the choice of words - and nodded soberly.

A few yards away, the dancing figures kept every eye in the great hall busy. Each woman in the room, being part of the sparser gender that night, was engaged in the event - and the men who did not participate stood in clusters about the moving forms. Bingley, of course, was within the inner circle for every single dance.

Fitzwilliam noted that Darcy took care to wait until Miss Bingley was far off in the other end before he spoke, "I am surprised Miss Bingley did not proposition _you_."

The soon-to-be soldier smiled. "I hope you do not use such words so hastily upon the genteel, Darcy. You ought to make sure you keep your friends despite my absence."

"Very well. I am surprised she has not, uhm, _approached_ you."

Fitzwilliam smiled more. "I am afraid my dowry tempts her insufficiently. She is a handsome woman, in her own right - but why indeed would she set her sights upon me when the master of Pemberley stands beside me?"

"I hope she never sees the place," Darcy growled.

"I swear, man, you shall be the most inhospitable Darcy yet."

Darcy softened at the rebuke. Fitzwilliam allowed the silence to reign for a few moments more.

"Promise me something, Darce." His voice sounded far more heavy and wistful than he would ever care to admit.

"Yes."

"Please keep me far, far away from women so anxious to marry a title or a fortune. I have not neither - but I fear those who see me only as a chance to be in the line of them to wish their widowhood too keenly."

"A soldier's wife," said Darcy solemnly.

"She would be hard to find." Fitzwilliam sighed, despite the smile he had made himself to sport all evening. "She must be strong - able to withstand life's demands without her husband's constant presence. Yet she must be kind - sweet and devoted to the lonely soldier's heart."

"You burden cupid more than I," Darcy said, almost teasingly.

Fitzwilliam smiled once more. "I swear I'll marry an heiress, Darcy. She should be so ridiculously rich that she would need not the chance to inherit what little could be mine."

"I swear _I_ shall not do so either," Darcy declared, to his cousin's surprise. Then he smiled - perhaps for the first time since Uncle George's death. "I have little to bring to a marriage except money. I might need to make sure I am duly appreciated."

The cousins laughed then, costing Bennet a shilling to Bingley - but they did not know then.

* * *

"Thank you for not betting on me," Miss Bingley spoke firmly, perhaps hardened by the past, when the number was nearly halfway done.

Bennet had the good grace to smile only a little as they weaved about yet another couple. The music was remarkably fine tonight - as was his companion. "May I assume you do not look fondly upon your brother's bets?"

"On the contrary." Miss Bingley smiled when they hands came back together. "I merely prefer not to be the subject of his many bets. I could hardly fault him for earning yet another shilling tonight."

"Tonight?" Bennet racked his brain thorough for any such agreements - and remembered only one.

"You do not look to your friends?" Miss Bingley smiled when the steps brought them beside each other. The brisk movement forwards and backwards brought a pleasant blush to her cheeks.

"I would much prefer your company to theirs," Bennet said smoothly, before the steps separated them once more. Upon his next turn, he glimpsed most deliberately towards Darcy and Fitzwilliam to find - to his utmost surprise - the two cousins laughing.

The music restored the dancing partners to each other one last time, and Bennet was forced to make do with his moment.

"I must say, Miss Bingley, that your eye is much keener than mine."

The lady smiled and moved as if to speak.

"Particularly, of course," Bennet added, only slightly teasing, "with regards to my wealthy friend from Derbyshire."

Miss Bingley froze then, unable to turn to him for the customary bow. The applause rang sparsely about them - university boys were hardly the best crowd to love a dance - as Bennet watched her with _his_ keen eye.

"Have I spoken wrong, Miss Bingley?" Bennet was all innocence.

"No, you have not," she conceded, to his heartfelt surprise. She turned herself about to face him. "I am always concerned for my brother's friends."

"You admit a fascination?" He nearly forgot to keep his voice low.

"I believe you, if you were in my shoes, would most certainly claim the same," she spoke with confidence - only slightly more brazen than Elizabeth.

Thoughts of his sisters summoned mixed feelings on Bennet's part.

"You, unlike my sisters, are blessed with dowry and friends of repute. You need not Darcy's riches nor Fitzwilliam's family."

"Perhaps," said she, head held high, "but what good is a pretty face if not to catch the finest groom?"

Bennet wondered if she meant her words.

"Caroline! You _must_ meet Miss Dover. She is the most charming creature I have ever met!" Bingley soon appeared beside them. Eyes bright and cheeks flushed, his very appearance taunted Bennet for not having made yet another bet with Darcy regarding their friend's latest infatuation. "Bennet, may I steal my sister?"

"Of course." Bennet bowed.

Bingley's gushing and his sister's nods soon faded amidst the crowds - and Bennet was left to his own homesick thoughts.

Homesickness, thank God, was nothing a few good glasses and flirtations couldn't cure.

* * *

"Why, Fitzwilliam, must you leave so early?" Bingley rubbed a hand through his eye. "The ball had barely ended hours ago."

"Soldiers do not wait, man." Fitzwilliam smiled sourly. "We have not the gentleman's privilege."

"I'm not a gentleman either," Bingley complained, yawning. The blasted morning was far too young for waking. "I also don't have an estate, but I don't need to go to war."

Fitzwilliam chuckled. Darcy brooded. Bennet shook his head sadly.

"Forgive our friend, soldier. He borders on the delirious this side of noon." Bennet spoke beside him.

"Magnanimity is not the trait of a warrior." Fitzwilliam clasped Bennet's hand. "You request strangely."

"I request what I believe my friends to need," said Bennet. The men exchanged some strange, uncommon look. Bingley found himself far too groggy and far too kind to ponder at their purpose. "Shall you return for Christmas?"

"Not to Cambridge, I hope." Fitzwilliam laughed.

"To Pemberley then," Darcy, so quiet all day, offered at last. He stepped closer to their enlisting friend. "Georgiana would mourn your absence dearly if you do not come."

"I see _you_ do not care to mourn." Fitzwilliam smiled again. The man looked strangely happy for someone leaving life's comforts.

"My life is entirely too boring without you, cousin." Darcy smiled slightly. "Whatever shall I do without your constant endeavors to shove simpering London ladies into my company?"

"Ha! Perhaps I shall have one of our friends here take over my duty."

"It is not a _duty_ ," Darcy growled.

Bingley felt that perhaps the sad parting did not _have_ to be as sad as he had anticipated.

"You are welcome to visit us as well, Fitzwilliam," Bingley proposed. "My sisters would love the company of a gallant soldier."

Beside him, Bennet cleared his throat quite loudly. "Or mine. You shall have no lack of welcome in Hertfordshire."

"I did not know you owned Hertfordshire." Fitzwilliam laughed, facing Bennet. "You must be richer than Darcy!"

"Riches in all the world are worth little when entailed." Bennet laughed bitterly. "Your aunt's parson might just as much own Hertfordshire one day."

"Parson?" Darcy and Fitzwilliam spoke together. Bingley frowned, quite confused.

"The impossible Mr. Collins - my father's cousin - is parson at Rosings Park."

"Oh," Fitzwilliam said openly, while Darcy only frowned. How indeed did Darcy frown so much all the time?

"We seem equally cursed with unreasonable family in Kent." Bennet smiled. He extended a hand to Fitzwilliam, who seemed to take it eagerly. "I promise that if you were to visit for Christmas - that we shall not have your aunt or my cousin know."

"Perhaps _someone_ should visit her?" Bingley, perplexed that his friends could speak so harshly about their own family, asked loudly. The morning mists had hardly lifted - and his words echoed in the small clearing they occupied. He found all six eyes upon him. "Perhaps we could _all_ meet for Christmas?"

At this, Fitzwilliam gave him an inexplicable laugh. His hand landed on Bingley's shoulder. "Thank you, Bingley, for volunteering."

"I bet two shillings whole that Aunt Catherine shall make Bingley lose his non-existent temper." Darcy smiled.

"Your bet cannot stand, cousin." Fitzwilliam smiled. "There can be no bet when no one bets upon the other!"

The friends exchanged many more smiles and looks before Fitzwilliam at last rode away. Bingley, saddened by this first interruption to their merry band, could only bring his sorrows to bed once more. Once calling hours came around, he would be at once at Miss Dover's doorstep.

* * *

How Bingley could take Fitzwilliam's departure with such nonchalance sat little well with Darcy, and his sips of brandy increased in frequency with every passing hour.

Unlike past instances, however, he had no cheerful cousin to magically appear beside him - unsolicited, sound advice in tow. Christmas holidays loomed near, and Darcy knew well that their parting would not last. Yet, wisely, he knew there would be few opportunities to see his childhood friend quite as much ever again - as he had grown accustomed to do.

"Are you well?" Bennet's voice and person appeared at his library door. His Cambridge home had limited luxuries, being not quite the mansion - yet books it had plenty.

Darcy lifted his shoulders uncertainly. "Man is seldom sufficiently objective a judge of his own condition."

"Right." Bennet remained succinct.

The two men kept their peace for yet another minute. The man standing made no move to enter; the one sitting made no move to invite.

"When do you depart for home?" Bennet was first to speak.

Darcy shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His light green sleeves, deliberately chosen in an attempt to add cheer to that morning's farewell, appeared somber and lifeless in the darkness. Be it high noon or midnight, his thick curtains encased his library in a state of perpetual timelessness.

He glanced up, tentative, at Bennet's solemn form. "I am to London in two days' time, but I promised Georgiana Christmas at Pemberley."

"The flurry of the city could never eclipse the charms of the country in winter." Bennet smiled. "I long, of course, to see my family as well."

Darcy grunted in reply. Bennet smiled again.

"I owe no duty to cheer you, Darcy," Bennet reminded.

"I know and therefore wonder at your baffling presence."

Bennet chuckled. "Fitzwilliam may be the one to turn soldier, but I have braved a home of female multitudes. There are few things that train a man's senses to the presence of angst as much as a home with five sisters."

Darcy opened his mouth, eager to deny any allegations of _angst_. One view of the nearly-empty glass in his hand, however, stayed his declaration.

"I hardly find you the most empathetic of the lot," he said instead, slightly jesting. "Has my cousin commanded you to replace him?"

"Hardly." Bennet smiled. He gestured to the chair beside Darcy's. The young master nodded his permission for his friend to sit, and Bennet promptly made his way over. "With Bingley entirely besotted by Miss Dover, however, I remain the last and only alternative, I am afraid. You shall have to salvage breadcrumbs of comfort from underneath my table."

"I find the task rather undignified."

"You find _everything_ rather undignified."

"I do not."

"You are beyond self-deceived."

Bennet smiled, and Darcy found himself smiling a little as well.

"For a man who professes so little, you most certainly feel much," Bennet observed - accurately. He gestured to the shelves about them. "Is the company of dead masters to be preferred over mine?"

" _Quiet_ company is preferred over yours." Darcy smiled - naturally, not as he had felt compelled to do that morning. "Books judge only when you let them. Humans, on the other hand, often have the most inopportune advice rolling off their tongues at every moment."

"You mock my self-control, friend."

"Oh?" Darcy looked at him. "What strangeness must be in your mind if you profess your current words to be sound?"

"The _strangeness_ you refer to, Darce, is your obvious need for a wife."

Darcy straightened at the suggestion - and very sternly frowned. "I do not need a wife."

"Oh, perhaps you don't." Bennet laughed. "If these episodes of excessive moping were to continue, however, Bingley and I shall commission a wife for you the first possible moment. Our sanity can only bear so much. We need a professional."

"A professional wife?" Darcy groaned.

"Yes." Bennet smiled. "And I am certain my mother shall gladly help you to five _very_ eligible options."

Darcy groaned more, and Bennet smiled further.

The latter was evidently having far too much fun. "If Miss Bingley's preference for you has frightened you from meeting any other friends' sisters, then perhaps we ought to arrange for yet another ball this week. You shall have plenty of chances to encounter your elusive perfect woman."

"She need not be perfect," Darcy complained.

Bennet's grin indicated far more gladness at his willingness to play this silly game than any genuine empathy. "Shall I inform Miss Bingley?"

"No!" Darcy barked.

"Right." Bennet grinned in a most unseemly manner.

Darcy sighed as he placed his glass upon the tray. "Host the balls if you like, I have no need for any but one woman in my life. Her name is Georgiana - and as my sister, she is all I need."

"Sisters are indeed the most wonderful thing." Bennet traded his mischievous grin for a true smile. "Though, perhaps, we oft have greater appreciation of our own than those of others."

"Indeed." Darcy chuckled. "I believe not a single one of among us would marry a sister of the others. There can't be too much family among friends."

"But could not friendship be the very foundation of familial love?"

"You think?" Darcy frowned at his friend. Bennet seemed rather intent upon some specific thought. "I believe familiarity would lead to individuals being rendered immune to each other's charms."

"Or, perhaps, add joyful discovery to the comfort of prior acquaintance."

"Indeed?" Darcy raised his brows, sadness forgotten. "Very well, I bet that _none_ of us should marry _any_ of our sisters within our lifetimes."

"And you shall pay me repeatedly for every such marriage to come to pass?"

"Ha! Confident suits you ill, Bennet."

"Shall you?"

"Very well, I shall." Darcy smiled. "Come - let us raise a glass to friendship - and its eternal divide from ever-present families."

* * *

 _Author's Note:_

 _Dear all, the rest of this story - reworked, reedited, and completely updated - is now available for purchase on Amazon! Please search for_ _Oh Brother_ _by Iris Lim. Thank you so, so much to everyone who has supported this story throughout its development. Inspiration struck and allowed me to add two whole, brand new chapters to the updated version! Who doesn't love a hefty chunk of fluff?_

 _With love,  
_ _Iris_


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